Josh

It was Friday, which meant it was Mike and Jessica's turn to babysit.

The thought was perhaps a little ungrateful, but that didn't make it any less true. Usually Chris came over, but Friday was date night. So Mike and Jessica it was. Which meant he should probably make an effort to seem normal, even though he felt far from it.

Josh should talk. He knew this. His reluctance to speak up had led to this whole mess in the first place—he knew this.

But. It was just so damn hard. Everyone had been so good to him, bending over backwards to make sure he was never alone for too long, always near a friendly face. How was he supposed to look into their kind, patiently supporting faces and say, 'It's not enough'?

He didn't even know why it wasn't enough. All he knew was that he'd be looking at Chris, or talking with Jessica, or joking with Mike, and he'd suddenly feel this distance. As if trying to have what they had—their normalcy, their happiness—was so beyond him that any attempt otherwise was an exercise in futility.

But he could barely put the concept into a thought, let alone words that anyone else would understand and help him with. So he took his pills, took more for the inevitable headache, and dressed. He had a smile in place for Mike and Jessica when they got to his door, and hated himself for the lie.

"Come on in, guys," Josh greeted, holding the door wide open.

"Hey, Josh," Jessica greeted first, a beautiful smile on her scarred features. She gave him a hug in greeting and moved inside so Mike could clasp his hand.

"Hey, man. What's up?"

"Nothin' much," Josh answered around a wide yawn. "Sorry. Just woke up."

Mike and Jessica gave him incredulous looks.

"Dude, it's three o'clock."

Josh shrugged as he shut the door. Time didn't really mean much to him these days. He slept when he slept.

Ignoring the concerned looks aimed at him, Josh shuffled away past the foyer and into the living room where he collapsed bonelessly onto the couch. He shifted to his back and stretched his arm out far enough to swipe the tv remote from the coffee table, and settled in for some channel surfing while Mike and Jessica made themselves at home.

"Your folks out?" Mike called from the kitchen, and Josh's expression darkened.

"What else is new?" he muttered.

"What?"

"Yeah," Josh responded, raising his voice and aiming for as disaffected as possible. "They're in Miami or something." His response was met with low whispering and Josh's thumb stabbed at the remote. Thirty-two-hundred channels and still nothing on.

A few minutes later a groan from Mike made Josh glance over to see him and Jessica settling together on the other couch. Mike was balancing two plates with sandwiches perched precariously on them and a bag of chips. Jessica was already seated and held her arms out eagerly for the food, grinning and making grabby hands. Mike handed over her plate with a soft smile.

Josh looked away quickly, squashing down the dark envy that settled in the pit of his stomach. He could care less about the food; it wasn't like he could eat all of the crap his parents left him anyways and letting the others bum food made him feel a little better about everything they did for him.

No, it was the affection. It was probably the only thing he disliked about the visits. Mike and Jess were so clearly in love it was physically painful to witness it. Once, he'd thought he'd been close to that, had even dared to hope for it—

Josh shifted, suddenly uncomfortable, and tried to push it from his mind. He hardly needed the reminder that Sam wanted nothing to do with him. Her absence spoke louder than anything.

"As fun as it is watching you look at every single channel, what are the odds of you picking something this year?"

Mike's voice pierced Josh's depressing thoughts and he started slightly. He hadn't even realized he was still pressing the button. Tiredly, he sat up and ran a hand over his face.

"Here," he said, standing. He tossed the remote to Mike who scrambled to put his sandwich down in time to do a fumbling catch. He glared at Josh but Josh was so far beyond teasing with the mood he was in he just ignored it as he walked by. "Just put on whatever. I need a drink."

"You sure about that, man?" Mike's worry was practically tangible. Josh huffed a laugh and waved a hand over his shoulder.

"It's fine," he assured them as his socked feet hit the chilled tile of the kitchen floor, "Just having one."

With his back to his friends, Josh allowed his face to show some of his internal struggle, the frustration and guilt and sadness.

God, he missed her.

Rubbing at his neck, Josh retrieved a glass from the top cabinet in the kitchen and knelt down to the cabinets at ground level just beside the fridge to fetch the liquor.

If there was one thing he was grateful to his parents for, it was that they were never short on alcohol and weren't around often enough to keep track of it. Josh's hand reached for a bottle of Jack, but even as his fingers curled around the bottle he remembered—

waking up to urgent hands, a panicked voice telling him he had to wake up, Hannah and Beth are gone, they still haven't come back and it's been hours, Josh struggles to waken, his vision is so blurry he can barely see and the first thing that comes into focus is the tipped, drained-dry bottle of whiskey—

Josh sucked in a sharp breath, going stock-still as the memory assaulted him. His arm dropped and he had to take a moment to simply breathe, to do as Dr. Hill had told him. Don't let your memories control you, he'd said.

"Goddammit," he muttered, and then he skipped the whiskey and grabbed the tequila instead.

His hands were unsteady pouring but he got it inside the glass without spilling and that's all that counted. He didn't stop until the glass was halfway full and then he threw it back, counting on it to chase the memories away.

It was fucking disgusting, but it was straight tequila, so no surprise there. He still chugged it down until he'd drained the glass dry, and he took deep, heaving gulps of air when he was done, staring down into the cup as if it would solve all his problems.

Nope. The bad feelings were all still there, but with alcohol in his system he could feel them growing stronger, laughing at his attempts to drown them out. His eyes darted to the bottle again. Maybe another…?

A soft hand went over his and stopped him mid-reach, and he flinched, snatching his hand away as he spun to face the intruder.

It was Jessica, watching him with brows furrowed and a worried frown on her lips. She said nothing, just watched him, and Josh slowly relaxed, ashamed of himself.

He set the glass back on the counter and screwed the lid back on the tequila.

"Sorry," he murmured, putting the bottle away.

Jessica placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and when he looked up, she was smiling at him, not with pity, but with understanding. It immediately made the last of his tension fade away.

"Come on," she ushered him back towards the living room, "Help me pick a channel. If we let Mike have his way we'll end up watching old football games all day."

"And what's wrong with that?" Mike yelled indignantly, eyes glued to the game on the large flatscreen.

"Nothing, sweetie," Jessica said in a sickly-sweet tone and she sauntered over to sit beside her boyfriend. She slid in next to him and traced a pattern on his arm, slowly inching higher. Josh simply shook his head as he settled back in his seat and stretched his legs out before him. "Only that it's incredibly boring and it kind of makes me want to blow my brains out."

"Hey—!"

Quick as a flash, Jessica darted forward and snatched the remote from Mike, laughing.

"Project Runway it is," she announced smugly, switching the channel.

"Oh, so that's how it is?" Mike asked, his annoyed tone ruined by the smile on his face.

"Yup."

"But baaaaaaaabe," Mike moaned, "You always get to pick what we watch! It's not fair!"

"That's not true!" Jessica replied indignantly. Mike rolled his eyes and leaned towards Josh, cupping a hand around his mouth.

"Don't let those beautiful hazel eyes fool you," he told Josh in mock-confidence. "Just the other day she made me watch the Kardashians," and here Mike shuddered in horror while Jessica rolled her eyes, "It was awful. Thank God Sam ordered pizza or—"

Mike broke off his sentence, suddenly looking awkward, and Jessica's playful expression morphed into surprise, then concern. They both looked surreptitiously at Josh, guilty, as if unable to help themselves.

Josh looked away from them and stared blindly at the tv screen, feeling a sudden lump in his throat. Of course everyone was aware that Sam hadn't bothered to visit Josh since they'd made it back to California. And in response Josh knew they'd tried not to bring her up around him, for fear they'd be rubbing it in his face. Sometimes he was grateful for it, other times it was worse than them talking about her because she became this silent, heavy presence, quietly haunting him and plaguing him with doubt and regret.

If he didn't say anything, they could move on. Mike or Jessica would change the subject and they could all pretend it never happened. He couldn't take back his reaction, the way he'd stilled and given Mike his full attention at her name, but, again, they'd pretend for him.

Instead, as if the words were ripped from him against his will, he asked, very quietly and definitely not making eye contact, "...How is she?"

It made him feel fucking pathetic, how he couldn't help but ask, to need to know how she is, to cling to any bit of information he could get. Every day was an exercise in restraint when all he wanted to do was ask for every little detail of her life, what she was doing, is she happy?

Perhaps he should've been more bitter, angry even. She had promised to be there and she'd lied to him, just like everyone else always did. And some days he did get angry. When he was alone he'd rage, hot tears burning from the stinging rejection of dozens of ignored calls and texts; his room was always a complete mess when he calmed down.

But he could never stay mad, not at her. Sam...Sam was so much better than him, in every way. If she wanted a life free of Josh, frankly, she deserved it.

Josh wasn't good for her.

Mike and Jessica exchanged apprehensive looks.

"She's uh, she's good," Mike said, straightening where he sat. He shrugged. "She moved out of her mom's place. Living in an apartment about…" Mike thought for a moment, "Ten? Fifteen minutes from her old place? She seems okay." He exchanged a glance with Jessica and frowned. "Me and Jess are pretty worried about her, actually," Mike admitted lowly.

Josh tensed, his own feelings drowned out with worry.

"She looks sick," Jessica admitted quietly, letting her head rest on Mike's shoulder. Mike's arm went around her and hugged her briefly before she continued. "I don't think she's slept since we came back."

Josh opened his mouth but hesitated. What could he say? He hoped she felt okay? That was lackluster at best and Sam deserved better than that. The thought of her alone at night, in pain, made his heart ache for her. For some reason, he never considered that Sam was hurting, that she wasn't out with friends, smiling, enjoying life. He wished he could see her, to hold her, to make everything better.

But he couldn't. She probably hated him.

Josh swallowed around that thought, despising how it always affected him. He had earned Sam's hatred. He just had to live with it.

"Hey," Mike removed his arm from around Jessica and scooted up to the edge of his seat, elbows backed on knees as he leaned closer to Josh. "You alright, man? I know you don't like talking about her, but—"

"It's fine," Josh said, making a dismissive gesture with his hand. "I'm not going to break down just because Sam hates me now."

"Whoa—" Mike started but Jessica interrupted, scooting forward in her seat, too.

"That's not true," Jessica insisted. "I know it's not! And you do too."

Surprised, Josh gave Jessica an incredulous look that morphed into anger when he realized she was being serious. "How would I know that, Jess?" he asked, pissed. "She won't talk to me! The only thing I know is that she doesn't want anything to do with me."

Restless and angry, Josh lurched up from his seat and paced, grasping fistfuls of hair before running his hands through the strands, searching for calm.

Gently, Jessica asked, "Did you apologize to her, Josh?"

Josh froze. How many times had he tried? Calls, texts, even Facebook messages; so many he'd lost count. She refused to see him now and even back then, that last day one month ago, he'd tried his damnedest but she'd gotten this look on her face, as if she couldn't bear to hear the words…

Josh exhaled slowly, his arms falling to rest listlessly at his sides.

"No," he confessed, grimacing. "She...she won't let me."

Jessica rose from the couch and placed her hand on his shoulder again, looking nothing but certain.

"I know I forget things sometimes," Jessica started, for a moment her eyes falling, bleeding sadness. Then she looked back at Josh and visibly forced it back, "But I know you're trying so hard to be better and we're all," she gestured to Mike, who nodded, standing now as well "so proud of you. And I know Sam is too. Just give her some time. I'm sure she misses you, Josh."

Josh stared down at Jessica, torn between wanting to believe her and not daring. His heart fluttered madly in his chest at the thought that Sam hadn't given up on him. It was probably the height of foolishness to entertain the notion that Sam held nothing but contempt for him, but Jessica seemed so sure…

"Yeah. Okay." Josh nodded, then smiled at Jess. "Thanks, Jess."

Jessica beamed.